


Bleep Bleep Bloop

by ClaraxBarton



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Bucky Barnes, BAMF Clint Barton, Canon Typical Violence, Coffee, Hawkeye - Freeform, M/M, Meet-Cute, Modern Bucky Barnes, and pie, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 08:13:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17199833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton
Summary: It's just another day in the life of Hawkeye.Wake up tired and sore, go to a diner to eat, save NYC from an alien invasion.Except, this time, there's a handsome gray eyed stranger in the mix.





	Bleep Bleep Bloop

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lissadiane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lissadiane/gifts).



> All the thanks, as always, to Ro for beta reading. You're incredible.
> 
> Also, as always, thanks to CB for hand holding and encouragement and putting up with me.
> 
> And, seriously, SO MANY thanks to JenJo for setting this up and being freaking amazing.
> 
>  
> 
> \--

There were a lot of reasons why Clint would never give up his Bed-Stuy apartment and move into Tony’s Avengers Tower full-time.

 

One of them being that the  _ first _ Avengers Tower had been ransacked by a murderbot of Tony’s own creation. And while Clint was grateful that Avengers HQ was now back in Manhattan instead of upstate New York, he wasn’t grateful enough to move back in.

 

Another of those reasons was that as great as Manhattan was, it wasn’t Brooklyn. And it didn’t have Lisa’s Coffee Shop.

 

Clint had been going to the hole-in-the-wall diner since he had moved to Brooklyn, back at the turn of the century, and  _ Christ _ , _ he was old _ .

 

Lisa’s - run by a woman of the same name who could have been anywhere between thirty-five and seventy-five, and Clint had yet to meet anyone dumb enough to actually ask her her age - was the kind of diner that still had linoleum-topped tables and swivel stools at the counter bar that ran around the exposed kitchen. The kind of place that stayed open until as late as Lisa felt like and opened before daybreak. The kind of place where the servers were sassy as all hell and Lisa treated everyone who came through the doors like family. Which didn’t mean she  _ liked _ everyone. Hell, Clint was pretty sure she didn’t like  _ most _ of her customers. But she still treated them like she knew them.

 

And sometimes, sometimes Clint desperately wanted that.

 

Times like after a rough mission halfway across the world that involved brainwashed kids and a suicide bomber and too many nightmares for Clint to add to his running tally. 

 

So.

 

The day after he got back, he slept until nearly three in the afternoon, tangled in his sheets, medicated up to his eyeballs because he was an idiot but not enough of an idiot to tackle sleep after that clusterfuck without meds. 

 

When he finally dragged himself out of bed, he showered, scrubbing his skin until it felt raw, and then he pulled on jeans that smelled clean and the Iron Man hoodie that Tony had given him two years ago and that was still  _ mostly _ intact. 

 

He debated whether or not to put his hearing aids back in. Pro: hearing. Con: hearing.

 

With a sigh, he slipped the BTEs back on and powered them up. The world buzzed to life around him, and Clint fought back a grimace as he stepped into the flip-flops he kept by the door, shoved his wallet, keys and phone into his pockets, and walked the three blocks to Lisa’s.

 

It was a little busier than he had anticipated, and it wasn’t until Clint was being ushered onto a stool at the far corner of the bar and being handed the specials menu that he even realized it was Saturday afternoon. 

 

It took another two cups of coffee before Clint felt coherent enough to wrap his head around the concept of food, and by that time the customers had rotated a bit, some of the booths opening up, some of the bar seats clearing out, and Clint’s nearest neighbor was - he was fairly certain - different than the person who had been in that seat when Clint had first sat down.

 

He was positive, actually, because as out of it as Clint had been, he was pretty sure he would have noticed the very not quiet conversation the man was having on the phone with… his girlfriend?

 

“Sweetheart, it’s not- No, no. Stop. Becs. Becs, that is  _ not _ your fault. I’m serious. Stop- stop beating yourself up over this, it’s not worth it. No- I’m not saying it’s stupid. You know I don’t think it’s stupid. I think it’s amazing.  _ You’re _ amazing. That’s what I’m trying to say, Becs. You’re amazing and you’re incredible, and this- this is just… This is just gonna be one of those shitty stories you get to tell when you’re drunk with your friends in ten years, okay?”

 

The guy was youngish, maybe late twenties or early thirties, with dark hair that was long enough to have a bit of curl to it where it peeked out from under a Yankees cap that he had on his head. He was dressed similarly to Clint in jeans and a black hoodie, but wearing black Converse high tops instead of Clint’s seasonally inappropriate flip-flops. There was a few days’ worth of stubble on his jaw and around his full lips, and his features were strong and striking, slightly tanned skin set off by a pair of startlingly bright blue-green eyes that flicked over towards Clint as if he could sense his attention.

 

The guy mouthed ‘sorry’ and gestured towards the phone in his hand.

 

Clint shrugged. There were a lot worse things he could be overhearing than a hot guy trying to comfort his girlfriend. Especially when said hot guy had such a pleasant Brooklyn drawl.

 

“Becs - wait. Don’t call him. Don’t do it. He’s a manipulative piece of- crap, and that’s what he wants you to do. You’re better than him. You are  _ so _ much better than him. Yeah. I know it does. It sucks a lot. Yeah, it feels like shit.” The hot guy sighed, and his lips curled into a kind of sympathetic half-smile. “To hell with him, Becs. You’re a damn rocket surgeon, and he’s the loser who was dumb enough to break your heart.”

 

Okay. Maybe  _ not _ his girlfriend, then. Unless hot guy and his girlfriend had some kind of open relationship?

 

“Yeah. I will. No, I  _ promise _ . I will. I love you too. Call me tomorrow. No - not a text. I want a phone call. Yeah. Okay. Bye.” Hot guy rolled his eyes, and his mouth moved into a genuine, kind of devastatingly sincere smile. “Yeah, I know you’re an aeronautical engineer and not a rocket surgeon. I’m not that dumb. Okay. Whatever. Bye.”

 

Hot guy ended the call, still looking at the phone with a fond expression for a moment, and then he sighed, shook his head, and slipped it into a pocket in his jeans.

 

“Sorry again,” he said to Clint.

 

“No worries. Definitely not as awkward as the time I sat next to a woman telling her husband how to use glycerin suppositories.”

 

Hot guy’s eyes widened, and his mouth worked for a moment.

 

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

 

Clint shrugged apologetically.

 

Hot guy rubbed a hand over his face.

 

“Fuck. That’s awful. I’m so, so sorry.”

 

“Like I said, no worries.” Clint took another sip of his coffee, figuring the encounter was over, because he was  _ aware _ that he looked like he had just peeled himself out of a drug-induced not-quite coma, while hot guy looked… hot.

 

“It was my sister. Her asshole boyfriend dumped her. He’s a fucking idiot.”

 

Well, maybe Clint didn’t look like  _ quite _ as much of a disaster as he had thought. Or maybe hot guy just went for disasters? Either way, Clint wasn’t about to turn down the chance to keep him talking.

 

“Mm. Anyone would be, to dump a rocket surgeon.”

 

Hot guy grinned, and  _ wow _ . Wow, hot guy didn’t accurately describe him. There was something about the way his eyes crinkled and warmth seemed to spread all over his face that kind of took Clint’s breath away.

 

“She’s actually an engineer with StarkTech. She’s a genius.”

 

“Sounds like,” Clint agreed. “What about you?”

 

“Me?” The guy’s grin faltered for a moment.

 

“You also a rocket surgeon?”

 

The guy snorted a laugh, and his eyebrows drew together while he stared at Clint.

 

“Oh - you’re not joking,” he said.

 

“Uh… no?” Clint responded, feeling like there was something that he was missing.

 

“No,” the guy finally said, and he was back to grinning that warm grin that made Clint feel like the sun was shining just on him. “No, I’m not a rocket surgeon. I’m Bucky.”

 

He held his hand out, and Clint set down his coffee mug to shake the hot guy’s hand.

 

“I’m also not a rocket surgeon. Clint.”

 

Another laugh, this one more genuine, and Bucky’s fingers curled against Clint’s hand, tightening for a moment before he released him.

 

The server working their end of the counter, Alison, came back and topped off both Clint and Bucky’s coffee mugs.

 

“You ready to order yet, or do you need a few more minutes of staring off into space before you decide?” she asked Clint.

 

Clint gave her a wounded look, but Alison ignored it.

 

Alison had served him coffee at two in the morning while Clint was wearing a tuxedo and sporting bloody, bandaged hands. Alison had slipped him an extra slice of pie the afternoon Clint stumbled into the diner, eyes and nose red and without his aids and without a way to even calibrate the  _ world _ because Natasha had told him that Coulson was dead. Alison had had the severe misfortunate to wait on Clint the one time he had brought a date to the diner and had told him it was a bad idea - which proved to be true because Clint ended that night at gunpoint because his  _ date _ was the cousin of someone’s cousin in the tracksuit mafia. Alison had served him coffee the morning Bobbi brought the divorce papers to the diner for him to sign.

 

She was immune to his wounded looks.

 

“Pumpkin pie is especially good today,” Bucky offered.

 

Clint had been leaning towards the idea of… well. Nothing, really.

 

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Pumpkin pie sounds great.”

 

Alison clucked her tongue, shot a significant look towards Bucky before smirking at Clint, and then walked away.

 

“So…” Clint struggled for a topic of conversation, “you come here often?”

 

More unfair eye crinkles as Bucky smiled again.

 

“Yeah. Well, not as much as I used to. I grew up here, just a few blocks down. I live in LA now, but I’m back visiting my ma for the holiday.”

 

Holiday? 

 

Clint frowned as he tried to remember… What fucking  _ holiday _ was it? For fuck’s sake, what was the  _ date _ even?

 

“New Year’s,” Bucky supplied, looking a little concerned.

 

“Oh. Yeah. Right. Yeah.”

 

Fuck, he hadn’t even realized it was a different  _ year _ . 

 

Ugh. That meant it was only a few days until his birthday and whatever disaster Tony and Natasha planned to ambush him with for it. Those two were a menace when they decided to team up.

 

“Happy New Year,” Clint offered, and held up his coffee mug.

 

Bucky gamely, gently clicked their mugs together.

 

“To you too,” Bucky said.

 

“So… LA? Long way from home.”

 

Bucky nodded.

 

“Yeah. It’s where the work is, though. I dunno. I keep thinking about moving back. Nothing’s the same as Brooklyn, you know?”

 

He sounded like Steve, kind of looked like him too -  that fond expression that only real Brooklynites got when they thought of their borough. Clint, as a transplant, couldn’t claim to love it as much as someone born and raised there, but he  _ did _ love it. And compared to LA? No contest.

 

“I know,” Clint agreed. “I spent a while on the west coast.” He shrugged. “Beach is nice. Also nice not to ever have to shovel snow to get out of your apartment. But...no sense of culture.”

 

“ _ Exactly _ ,” Bucky agreed, eyes glowing. “Everything feels so… superficial out there. The people, the places. There’s no history. Not like here. Not like home.”

 

Alison came back with Clint’s pie, and Bucky fell silent while he waited for Clint to take a bite, as if he had a personal stake in whether or not Clint enjoyed it.

 

Clint had never been a great lover of pie, or pumpkin, but… it wasn’t bad. Actually, it was surprisingly good.

 

Bucky smirked.

 

“Told you.”

 

“You were right,” Clint shrugged. “It’s good. Hey, what do you-”

 

Behind them, the windows exploded in a shower of glass and orange light and  _ heat _ .

 

Clint threw himself towards Bucky, tackling the other man and sending them both crashing to the floor in a painful tangle of limbs. 

 

People screamed. 

 

There was some kind of  _ bleep-bleep-bloop _ sound coming from outside and-

 

Another explosion, another wave of light and heat, and Clint curled himself around Bucky protectively.

 

He drew in a deep breath and tried to turn his head to survey the rest of the diner.

 

People were under tables, which was smart. A hell of a lot smarter than laying on the floor like Clint and Bucky were.

 

Clint spotted an empty table a few feet away and started to drag Bucky towards it.

 

“‘M fine,” Bucky growled, and batted Clint’s hands away.

 

“You’re bleeding,” Clint had to point out.

 

In the explosion and Clint’s tackle, Bucky’s hat had gone flying and his dark hair was now a wild mess, half-plastered to his forehead where a cut near his hairline bled freely.

 

“Seriously, I’m fine.” Bucky shoved Clint’s hands with a little more force, and Clint let the man crawl to the table under his own power.

 

It looked like everyone else was undercover. Which was something.

 

Clint ignored the safety of the table Bucky had wedged himself under, and instead crawled towards the blown-out windows at the front of the diner.

 

He plastered himself against the wall and gingerly eased his head up enough to see outside.

 

Aliens.

 

_ More _ aliens.

 

Bright green ones screeching and shooting the  _ bleep-bleep-bloop _ orange light/heat weapons all over the place outside.

 

Clint groaned.

 

One day.

 

Couldn’t he just have  _ one day _ ?

 

One of the green aliens swiveled towards Clint. It was vaguely humanoid, on two legs but with three arms and large, multifaceted eyes that looked like they glowed.

 

And that were totally focused on Clint.

 

“Aw, come on,” Clint whined as he ducked.

 

A burst of orange light and heat almost hit him. He felt it singe his hair.

 

“Get the fuck under the table!” Bucky hissed at him, reaching for Clint’s ankle.

 

“Stay there!” Clint shouted back at him, pulling away and crawling towards the front door of the diner, hoping that the alien would come in through there instead of… the window? He wasn’t sure what kinds of entrances these particular extraterrestrials were used to. Hell, maybe they were used to entering buildings through the roof. Or-

 

He was getting hysterical.

 

Time to calm down.

 

Time to take care of all of the civilians around him, including but not limited to Hot Guy Bucky.

 

Clint knelt down beside the booth closest to the entrance to the diner and forced himself to wait.

 

Either the alien would come in after him, or he would continue on his merry, marauding way.

 

_ Crunch, crunch, boom. Bleep-bleep-bloop. Boom _ .

 

There were fewer screams outside, which wasn’t really a good sign at  _ all _ . 

 

Clint was going to have to get off his ass and go investigate. 

 

One more minute of waiting for this asshole, and then-

 

The diner doors were violently thrown against the kitchen wall, metal curled into the plaster, and the signed photograph of Mickey Mantle and Roger Maris falling to the ground in a crash of glass and paper.

 

Clint could see movement out of the corner of his eye, the play of light and shadow over the tile floor, and he waited, waited, waited-

 

“Hey, asshole!”

 

The alien made some kind of sound - a growl? A gurgle? A laugh? 

 

Its body swung into full view, and Clint dove forward, throwing his body up and forward and- 

 

“Ew!” He couldn’t help but scream as he fought back his gag reflex because the alien was  _ moist _ . Not wet, not damp, but  _ moist _ . It was the most disgusting thing Clint had ever touched. And Clint had touched a  _ lot _ of disgusting things.

 

Trained professional, he reminded himself as he wrestled with the alien.

 

But -  _ moist _ .

 

Moist and - oh fuck. It  _ smelled _ . Like burnt sugar and some kind of flower or something?

 

It was the most bizarre combination ever and-

 

Clint finally wrenched the weapon thing free from the alien’s hands and scrambled off of its definitely naked moist body, scooting backwards across the floor and clutching the weapon.

 

But the alien’s third arm came up, pointing  _ another _ heat/light gun thing at Clint and-

 

“Fuck off!”

 

It was the same voice that had yelled before, and as Clint watched a chipped coffee mug fly through the air and hit the alien in one of its large eyes, Clint realized it was  _ Bucky _ ’s voice.

 

The alien staggered, attention momentarily diverted, and Clint pulled the - he hoped - trigger on the weapon.

 

The thing had a kick to it, sending Clint back a few feet, and the alien- the alien exploded in a burst of goo that had the diner patrons screaming and curling away from it, and even Clint couldn’t help the whimper of revulsion from slipping between his lips as some of the alien goo landed on his foot.

 

Why the  _ fuck _ had he put on flip-flops?

 

Out of nowhere, two arms wrapped around Clint’s shoulders and pulled him farther away from the goo.

 

He looked up and saw that it was Bucky, bloodstained and grim-looking.

 

“You’re an idiot,” Bucky growled at him.

 

“ _ Me _ ? You’re the one yelling at the alien!” Clint argued.

 

Bucky grimaced and let go of Clint to pick up the battered remains of a napkin dispenser. He pulled out a handful of napkins and dabbed at Clint’s face.

 

“You’re covered in… goo,” Bucky muttered. “It’s so gross.”

 

“Bucky, Bucky, you think this is gross? Its skin - it was  _ moist _ !”

 

Bucky’s grimace turned into a full-body shudder.

 

“Don’t say that word,” he hissed.

 

Clint grabbed his hand as Bucky tried to wipe off Clint’s nose.

 

“But that’s exactly what it felt like. It was-”

 

“You don’t have to describe it! I believe you!”

 

It struck Clint quite suddenly that he was holding an alien weapon in his lap, covered in alien blood-goo, with a total stranger wiping off his face. And they were arguing about actual, literal semantics.

 

Clint turned his laugh into a cough, but Bucky arched an eyebrow at him.

 

“You okay, there?” Bucky asked.

 

“Never better,” Clint assured him. 

 

“Right. You’ve  _ never _ , not once in your life, felt better than you do right now - covered in alien goo?”

 

“I mean, I’ve never, not once in my life, had Hot Guy Bucky wiping alien goo off of me before right now.”

 

And - yep. Those words were said out loud. Definitely not in the privacy of Clint’s own head.

 

Bucky’s eyes widened, but then he was grinning.

 

“Hot Guy Bucky?”

 

“I mean, you said that was your name? Bucky. Obviously, you didn’t say the Hot Guy part.”

 

“Obviously.” Bucky tossed aside the napkins and picked up another handful. “I’m James Barnes. Only my family calls me Bucky.”

 

He said his name like he expected Clint to recognize it, eyebrows raised and mouth a firm, flat line.

 

“Oh, uh… I’m Clint Barton? Hawkeye, to those who know me professionally.” Maybe Bucky wanted Clint to fess up to who he was?

 

Nope. Eyebrows were still raised.

 

“You really have no idea who I am?”

 

“That’s your reaction to me telling you I’m Hawkeye?”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes and made an impatient sound.

 

“Of course you’re Hawkeye. Lisa has a photo of you over the coffee machine. Or,” he twisted his head around, “well, she  _ did _ . Of course I know who you are.”

 

“I… I’m sorry?”

 

Bucky huffed a laugh and tossed away the newest handful of napkins.

 

“Nothing to apologize for. Actually, it’s kind of nice that you don’t know who I am. Feels-”

 

_ Bleep-bleep-bloop. Boom _ .

 

Clint winced.

 

“I should probably go and… Avenge stuff.”

 

Bucky nodded.

 

“Probably.”

 

Neither of them moved.

 

“Um… thanks for…” Clint waved vaguely at the diner.

 

Bucky’s lips twitched.

 

“Anytime. Well, maybe without the…” he waved vaguely at the diner.

 

Clint nodded.

 

“Absolutely.”

 

Bucky smirked, and there was  _ no fucking way _ someone should look that ridiculously sexy with blood on their face and a smear of alien goo on the side of their nose. But he fucking did.

 

“You want a kiss, for luck?” Bucky offered.

 

Clint, who might not be a rocket surgeon, but, despite all evidence to the contrary, was  _ not _ an idiot, sat up.

 

“Hell yeah.”

 

The kiss was fucking fantastic.

 

Bucky brushed his lips against Clint’s, a soft, gentle tease before Clint pressed forward and Bucky’s smirk melted into an open-mouthed sigh of pleasure as Clint’s mouth fit over his. And then Bucky’s teeth were scraping over Clint’s lower lip and Bucky’s  _ tongue _ was-

 

_ Bleep-bleep-bloop. Boom. _

 

Clint pulled away with a groan.

 

“I’ve got to go.”

 

Bucky nodded and watched Clint as he got to his feet, a little unsteady - and who the fuck knew if it was because of the mind-melting kiss or because he had just wrestled with a fucking  _ moist _ alien.

 

He scowled as he looked down at his feet. He was down to only one flip-flop. With a sigh, he kicked that one off and then walked towards the front of the diner.

 

“Give ‘em hell, Hawkguy!” Alison yelled.

 

Clint gave her the finger.

 

“It’s Hawk _ eye _ !”

 

-o-

 

As usual, the team debrief was held in the med bay while Clint was hooked up to some fancy machine that regenerated his skin and everyone sat around drinking Tony’s disgusting green smoothies and making jibes about Clint being more ‘machine now than man’.

 

Since Clint, Sam and Tony had just gotten back from their mission, Natasha, Cap, Vision, Wanda and Pietro had been on-call during the whole alien goo invasion.

 

And, since they had still  _ all _ been in the city when it happened, they had all ended up seeing action.

 

Only Clint and Pietro had been injured - and Clint was definitely enough of an asshole to rib the kid about  _ that _ .

 

So, the debrief was mostly Tony and Bruce - via StarkTime (Tony was still workshopping the official name, but Clint was going to stick with StarkTime no matter what Tony eventually called his  _ not _ FaceTime Stark Phone app) - talking science reasons for the alien invasion while Clint unhappily stared at the empty morphine drip and Natasha alternated between giving him her ‘I am so disappointed in you’ glare and her ‘I can’t believe you aren’t dead yet’ glare.

 

But then F.R.I.D.A.Y. spoke up, cutting into the science jargon with her firm voice.

 

“Boss, the news outlets are starting to report on the events,” she informed them.

 

Cap sighed.

 

“Show us,” he said, and Tony waved a hand magnanimously, calling up the video feeds from a half-dozen news outlets.

 

They all seemed pretty standard - images of moist green aliens prowling through Brooklyn and Manhattan and Queens - for some reason, the Bronx had been spared.  _ Bleep-bleep-bloop  _ explosions and human shouts and alien gargles provided the backdrop for the talking heads as they hypothesized on the various reasons for the invasion. 

 

But then Clint saw his own face on one of the broadcasts.

 

“What the hell?”

 

Tony followed his attention and blew that screen up to cover all of the others, muting them so that the audio from that broadcast was the only thing being played.

 

“...interrupted a date between Hollywood hunk James Barnes and his boyfriend, Hawkeye. The two were seen enjoying pie at a local Brooklyn restaurant before the invasion, and Barnes can be seen here, kissing Hawkeye goodbye before the Avenger goes off to fight against the aliens. James Barnes, winner of two Golden Globe awards and one Oscar, came out to the press two years ago as bisexual, but has kept a very strict divide between his personal and professional lives. We don’t know how long their relationship has been going on, but it is clear that the two care deeply for one another. Neither Barnes nor Hawkeye were available for comment.”

 

The broadcast switched back to more generic carnage, and Clint felt the eyes of the entire team focused on him.

 

“I saved the  _ mayor _ ,” Pietro groused, “and all they want to talk about is you kissing some actor?”

 

It made sense now, why Bucky had been so confused about Clint not knowing who he was.

 

Hollywood hunk. Yeah. That seemed about right.

 

“Um… I’m way more photogenic than you?” Clint pointed out to the kid.

 

“Wait, wait, back up,” Sam held up two hands. “You - you, car crash Clint - you’re dating  _ that _ ?”

 

“No?”

 

None of them looked like they were buying it.

 

“I’m not!” Clint insisted. “I didn’t even know who he was!”

 

“You just going around kissing strangers in the middle of alien invasions?” Cap asked.

 

“Yes,” Natasha said at the same time that Clint said, “No.”

 

Natasha arched an eyebrow.

 

“What about-”

 

“Okay. Yeah. Fine. Maybe I have before. Once before.”

 

Natasha lifted the  _ other _ eyebrow.

 

“Twice before,” Clint grumbled.

 

“And people complain about  _ my _ priorities,” Tony muttered.

 

“How did you two even  _ meet _ ?” Sam demanded. He seemed to be personally offended by Clint’s involvement with Bucky. James Barnes. Hollywood hunk.

 

“At the diner. We just… shared coffee and pie.”

 

Only Natasha looked like she believed him.

 

“That does seem plausible,” Vision eventually offered. “Based on Agent Barton’s previous relationships, such an occurrence is not-”

 

“Whoa, whoa. How many of my past relationships do you know about?” Clint demanded.

 

Vision frowned.

 

“Please define ‘relationship.’”

 

Bruce, still on StarkTime, groaned.

 

“Okay, can we get back to important things? Like figuring out why the aliens invaded instead of spending more time wondering about Clint’s sex life?”

 

“We haven’t had sex yet! I just met him this afternoon!” Clint insisted.

 

“How long did you know that Danish prince before you two had sex?” Natasha asked.

 

“I agree with Bruce,” Clint muttered. “We should talk about science things.”

 

“Boss,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. spoke up again, “I’m getting a call from a ‘James Barnes’ for Agent Barton. Should I take a message or-”

 

“Put him through!” Tony gleefully shouted.

 

Clint closed his eyes and frantically thumbed the morphine drip button.

 

“Er… hello? Clint?”

 

It was definitely Bucky’s voice, and Clint couldn’t help but grin a little at the sound. Natasha snorted, and he opened his eyes to glare at her.

 

“Ow!” Clint slapped away Sam’s hand when he poked his uninjured side. “‘M here.”

 

“Are you okay?” Bucky actually sounded worried about him.

 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m all good.”

 

“Never better?” Bucky asked, and Clint smirked.

 

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

 

“So, apparently we’re dating,” Bucky said.

 

“Yeah, I heard. Also, heard you were a Hollywood hunk.”

 

“I thought I was Hot Guy Bucky?”

 

“So did I!” Clint forced himself to look away from Natasha’s familiar expression of fond exasperation and at the rest of his teammates.

 

Sam looked torn between horror and awe. Tony looked ready to explode. Cap had a gentle smile on his face that made Clint want to blush. Vision had his head cocked to the side and was presumably recording the phone call to add to his other data on Clint’s dating. Wanda was smirking, and Pietro looked ready to vomit. Bruce had hung up on them.

 

“Sorry,” Bucky said.

 

“Don’t be,” Clint insisted. “I like Hot Guy Bucky.”

 

“Enough to go on a date with him?”

 

“Depends. Is it going to involve aliens and goo?”

 

“It fucking better not,” Bucky growled.

 

And that growl. Wow. Yeah. Clint wouldn’t mind hearing  _ that _ again. He smirked at Sam. Sam flipped him the bird.

 

“How’s tomorrow night? There’s this dive bar near my place that plays old Yankees games and makes awesome burgers.”

 

Sam rolled his eyes.

 

_ Burgers? Yankees games? _ Sam mouthed at him in disgust.  _ What is wrong with you? _

 

“That sounds amazing,” Bucky said, and Clint smirked at Sam again. “But I have to head back to LA tomorrow. I’m out there for a few weeks, but-”

 

“No worries,” Tony interrupted. “Clint’s off the active duty roster while he recovers. I’ll fly him out on my jet tomorrow. Hey, you want to ride with him? Wheels up at Teterboro at noon?”

 

There was a long, tense silence before Bucky finally spoke again.

 

“I’m on speaker phone,” he concluded.

 

“Yeah, whole team is here. I’m sorry,” Clint sighed. “Personal boundaries is a thing we keep forgetting to work on.”

 

“If you can get me Captain America’s autograph, we’ll call it even. See you tomorrow.”

 

The call ended, and Clint closed his eyes and prayed for unconsciousness.

 

He wondered how long it would take before someone said something. Wondered who would-

 

“I saved the  _ mayor _ ,” Pietro repeated. “The  _ mayor! _ ”

 

-o-

  
  


**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] Bleep Bleep Bloop](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20355511) by [Flowerparrish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flowerparrish/pseuds/Flowerparrish)




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